


A Taste of Home

by NighttimeSabbatical



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Family, Feels, Friendship, Gen, the three most important 'F's:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13142892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NighttimeSabbatical/pseuds/NighttimeSabbatical
Summary: "It's good, but it's not as good as my mom's." It was nice to remember home, even if it hurt sometimes.





	A Taste of Home

Sophie composed a letter to Noelle and Matthew, stopping to sigh every once in a while. Raindrops pattered against the latticed window, pelting harder with each gust of the wind. She'd have been out right now, if not for the inclement weather.

Before her journey's start she'd been excited at the prospect of setting off on her own—constantly assuring Cheria that she'd be fine, promising to write every day—but after two weeks of independence, she just felt lonely and homesick. Not even the vivacity of Barona was enough to distract her from her sorrow.

She sat in her guest chambers in Barona Castle, just down the hall from Richard's own. He'd refused to hear of anything less for her, even though she would've been perfectly happy staying at an inn. She certainly had enough money for it; by Cheria's doing, she had so much gald she doubted she'd be able to spend even half of it.

At the thought of her mother, her chest tightened. Cheria, eight months pregnant, hadn't been able to join her, Asbel couldn't because of his duties as lord, and Noelle and little Matthew were too young and boisterous for her to be able to take care of herself for such a long period of time.

She missed home. She missed Lhant and its people, and she missed her family. But most of all, she missed the routine.

Waking up in the early morning to the smell of baking bread, she'd tiptoe down to the kitchen to help Cheria make breakfast. Minutes later a groggy Asbel would walk in, wearing the Turtlez slippers Sophie and the children had given him for his last birthday, and Cheria would exclaim over his untidy hair.

Later, at breakfast, Matthew would try to find a way to weasel his way out of eating his eggs. Noelle, who had recently taken to bossing him around, would try to bully him into eating them, even though she avoided eggs as much as he did. It made Sophie laugh, watching them squabble over it.

But her favourite time was their weekly outings to Lhant Hill. Asbel and Cheria would hold hands as the children ran through the meadow, and Sophie helped them pick the prettiest flowers for Cheria. She missed Lhant Hill almost as much as she missed her family.

That wasn't to say she wasn't enjoying her visit with Richard. They'd had dinner twice in the past week, and although his life as a king was so grand, so stark, he was still the same old Richard he'd always been. Both times they'd visited he apologized profusely for not spending as much time with her as he would have liked to.

It wasn't his fault, of course. Life as a king was busy, far busier than Sophie could ever have imagined. But even among all the nobles, knights, and servants bustling around him, Richard seemed lonely—even lonelier than she was.

She didn't much mind being left to her own devices, so long as she could distract herself from homesickness. She loved exploring the city, buying presents for everyone back home, seeing sights she couldn't wait to tell her siblings about, just to see their eyes go wide as saucers. In today's letter, she was describing such a scene to them: street performers the night before, one that juggled daggers and another that swallowed fire. She smiled, anticipating their reactions, though a little disappointed she wouldn't be able to see them for herself.

A sudden knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she said.

A maid entered, carrying a golden platter with an envelope atop it. She dropped to give Sophie a one-handed curtsy. "Lady Sophie, I've come bearing a letter from His Majesty."

 _Lady Sophie._ Ten years, and she still hadn't quite gotten used to being called a lady. "Thank you."

After the maid left she tore open the envelope, and inside was a brief note, written in flowing, elegant handwriting:

 _I apologize for this being in such short notice, but if you are otherwise unoccupied I would love your company in my chambers for the rest of the evening._ _  
–Tiger Festival_

She snorted, getting to her feet. She gently waved her own letter in the air, letting the ink dry, before carefully stowing it and her writing utensils in the drawer. Finally, she snuffed out her candle.

It was a short walk to Richard's chambers, but she passed several servants, and in typical fashion they made hurried bows and curtsies as they passed. The guards at Richard's door gave her curt nods, permitting her entrance.

"Sophie!" Richard stood as she entered, beaming. Aside from a short beard, his appearance hadn't changed a bit in the past ten years. He wore a resplendent green tunic with red and white stripes across the breast, a wide white belt, and knee-high black boots.

A lively fire crackled in the hearth, pitting warmth against the gloom outside, and more than a dozen candles burned brightly around the room. The walls fascinated her—deep purple wallpaper covered by elegant red-and-gold tapestries. Her eyes never knew where to rest.

Richard continued, "I'd had plans to meet with a group of Strahtan merchants, but they cancelled at the last minute because of the weather. Ah, but none of that matters, now—come, sit." He gestured to the armchair across from him. "I hope you are well."

"I am," she lied. "And you?"

"Splendid, now that you're here." He looked tired, but his eyes were warm.

She smiled back at him, but hesitated. "Actually, there was ... something I wanted to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

She absently twisted the ring on her right forefinger. "There was this pair of noblewoman yesterday who visited me in my room. Annabelle and Johanna, I think they said their names were. Do you know them?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes. Continue, please."

"First they asked me if we were close. I said we were old friends." At that they'd given each other a conspirational look, as if Sophie weren't there. That was how most nobles in Barona treated her—they looked at her not as a person, but rather a puzzle to be solved. "Then they asked me if you were betrothed to anyone."

He sighed, leaning back against his chair. "The entire court has been on my case about marriage ever since I took the throne. You'd think they would learn to give it up, but as time wears on they're only more persistent."

"Hubert complains about that all the time, when he visits," Sophie said.

"Ah, Hubert! How is he? When did you see him last?"

"About a month ago," Sophie said, "just a few months before I left for Barona. Pascal came, too."

His eyes twinkled. "I imagine he still has his sights on her?"

"He's tight-lipped about it, but it's obvious to everyone how he truly feels." She paused. "Except maybe to Pascal."

Richard laughed softly and gazed into the fire, a faraway look in his eyes. "I was reminiscing about our travels, just before you came. That evening on Galesyde Highroad when we all made beef stew. Do you remember?"

"I ... think so."

"Pascal lay with her ear to the ground, listening for heavens knew what. Then Asbel came, carrying a bowl of stew—"

Sophie giggled. She remembered now. "And he tripped over her, spilling a hot bowl of stew all over himself." Asbel had let out a squeal she'd never, before or since, heard from him. Richard and Malik had teased him mercilessly for it.

"I've never had a simple beef stew in years," Richard said musingly. "Here, it's all fancy dishes—befitting a king, perhaps, but I find myself missing simpler times." Suddenly a smile tugged at his lips, and he said, "Wait there." He went to his desk and pulled the rope that hung from the ceiling, the one connected to the maid's quarters from what Sophie remembered. Then he jotted something down—a list? When she tried to peer closer, Richard quickly covered his writing with his hand. "You'll see what I have in store. You'll like it."

She sat back down. "All right."

Just as Richard finished writing, a knock came at the door. "Come in."

A pretty brown-haired maid entered, curtsying deeply. "What does Your Majesty desire?"

Richard handed her the paper. "Tell the kitchen staff to acquire these things for me, and promptly send them to my chambers."

Her forehead creased, but she said, "As you wish, Your Majesty." With another curtsy, she was gone.

"I'm seen as a little eccentric by the servants," Richard said. "They're used to my antics by now, but sometimes I have to go out of my way to keep them lively."

Sophie laughed at that.

A short while later the maid returned with several other servants, all with various kinds of vegetables and even a slab of beef. _Ingredients_ , Sophie thought wonderingly.

"Oh, good, you haven't chopped the vegetables," Richard said, looking over the food with a pleased expression. "Or even peeled the potatoes."

"As Your Majesty requested, so we have done," a serving man intoned, bowing out.

More servants came in, with a big pot and all kinds of cooking utensils. One added some coals to the fire, stoking it so it crackled and sparked.

"Will that be all, Your Majesty?" the first maid asked.

"Yes, Felicity. You've done splendidly. You may go."

With one last rueful look at the chaos that was now heaped on Richard's desk, she left.

"Well then, shall we begin?" Richard asked, rubbing his hands together. "Would you like to cut the beef or peel the potatoes?"

"We're ... cooking?"

"What else would we be doing with all these ingredients?"

She supposed it was obvious, but ... "Okay, I'll take care of the potatoes. Are we making beef stew?"

"Naturally," Richard said. He began slicing the meat in long, precise strokes. "A staple of life on the road, don't you think? Of course, these ingredients are a tad more quality than the ones on the road, but it's the thought that counts the most, is it not?"

They got to work. Sophie prepared the potatoes and celery, Richard prepared the beef and carrots, and they took turns cutting the onions, laughing at how the stinging made their eyes water. It did remind Sophie of the old days, of cooking on the road, of having fun with her dearest friends.

And it only made her homesickness worse. She stirred the stew with a wooden spoon, her chest tight, only half-listening to Richard's chatter. Helping Richard reminded her of helping Cheria around the kitchen. Sophie bit her lip. Were they okay, without her? Were they as worried about her as she was about them?

"Sophie?"

"Huh?" She turned.

"Zoned out?" Richard said, smiling kindly. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "I was just saying, the stew is probably ready by now. Are the potatoes cooked?"

Sophie gently prodded one with a fork, and it went in without resistance. "Ready."

They settled down to eat on the floor instead of the table, Richard explaining, "It's much more authentic this way. I just hope no one walks in. Perhaps they would accept me making my own supper, but the kingdom would be in shambles if they caught their king eating on the floor. Well, let's eat, shall we?"

They clinked their bowls together, careful not to spill, then each took their first spoonful.

It was tasty, there was no denying it. They'd done everything right. But still ... there was something off, like some vital part was missing.

"How is it?" Richard asked.

"It's good," she said slowly. Then, without any prior thought, "But it's not as good as my mom's."

She was immediately horrified she'd made such a pronouncement, but Richard burst into laughter. "I suppose nothing _could_ beat one's own mother's cooking. Cheria is an exceptional cook—I'm a little envious of you and Asbel for having her, to tell the truth."

Sophie found herself fiddling with her ring again. It was Cheria who had given it to her—a Barnes family heirloom, passed down from mother to daughter. "Did your mom ever cook for you, Richard?"

"I can't remember," he said after a moment. "I suppose not—that's not exactly something a queen does."

She felt sorry for him. She knew what it was like to not have a mother, and she wouldn't wish it upon anyone.

Richard smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Sophie. With this dinner I'd intended to help alleviate your homesickness, but now I see I've only made it worse."

"No, it's all right," she said, wiping her eyes. "I like being reminded of home."

When she returned home, a month later, she specially requested that Cheria make beef stew for her homecoming dinner. Along with the crablettes, of course.

* * *

Two hundred years later, Lhant Manor still stood: the same old familiar place, only with some different decor. The best difference, in Sophie's mind, was that what had been Asbel and Hubert's room now had three beds, for the triplets—Katherine, Hannah, and Aston. The three were a terror at only five years old, and Sophie loved them a lot.

These days Lambda had his own body, though he wasn't in Lhant anymore. He traveled the world, only deigning to return, without warning, whenever it suited him. He refused to speak of the past, but Sophie knew it was not because he was uncaring, but rather that he cared too much. Even after all this time, he hated to talk of feelings.

Life was good. She'd taken the role of Lhant Manor's gardener, working long days to keep the grounds beautiful. It kept her body and mind occupied.

Still, she frequently dwelt on the past, of her days with Asbel and Cheria and everyone else. It didn't hurt as much anymore, though she expected it would never truly be painless to think of those she'd loved and lost.

Suddenly, a pair of skinny arms wrapped themselves around her middle. "Guess who!"

She laughed. "Aston, you should know better than to scare your elders."

"I surprised you, then?"

Sophie turned to look at him. He reminded her so much of Cheria—even six generations later, he had her cherry pink hair and deep brown eyes. He had similar mannerisms, too; the same stubbornness, the same pout. She thought of Cheria every time she saw him, and even if it hurt a little, it was good to be reminded of home.

He grabbed her hand. "Come! I have something to show you."

She let him lead her downstairs, to the kitchens. As they descended, a savoury smell wafted ever stronger to her nostrils. Some sort of meat broth—beef?

"Ta-daaaa!" A pot sat on the counter, steaming. The cook and her helpers all stood 'round, smiling.

"Did you make this just for me?" Sophie asked, affectionately ruffling his hair.

"Of course!" His eyes shone brightly. "I made it all myself. Well, Martha and the girls helped me. Just a little." The kitchen staff laughed at that. "I even peeled the potatoes!"

"You peeled them beautifully," she said, peering into the pot. Just as she'd suspected—beef stew. She smiled in remembrance, reminiscing the time she'd made that very dish with Richard in his chambers.

Now his great granddaughter sat on the throne, a wizened old woman herself. Sophie was due for a visit, one of these days. Maybe she'd go in the fall.

She raised a spoonful of beef and carrots to her mouth, remembering Cheria, and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. "It's wonderful," she said, loving the delight on Aston's face. _But it's not as good as my mom's._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry for giving Richard a beard.


End file.
